


Freedom is a state of mind

by Ryukotsusei



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Imprisonment, M/M, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryukotsusei/pseuds/Ryukotsusei
Summary: When Ken finds himself in Big Madame's clutches, his old life is in ruins. He quickly realizes that there are different rules in the world of the ghouls. It's either adapt or die. And Ken's fate is not unique. . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language. I apologize in advance for any errors, but I hope that it is legible.  
> If you find any mistakes, please let me know.  
> I will improve them immediately!  
> Have fun reading! :)

It all began with his mother's death.  
She had been a friendly, caring person and Ken had loved her very much.  
Her demise tore the ground out from under him. The first few weeks were terrible.  
He didn't know what to do, what he could do anyway, all by himself, and it hurt and anyway everything was much too fast and painful. It didn't take long for Ken to reproach himself.  
Since his father's death, all responsibility and the stress associated with it has remained with his mother.  
It was a bit like she had become a magnet. A magnet that magically attracted work. And bad luck. And sickness.  
Maybe it would have been better, at least she wouldn't have tried to swallow it all with a smile. Like a sponge sucking it all up and not letting any more of her sufferings to the surface.  
Ken hadn't noticed anything. Not realizing how much his mother suffered and tortured herself, all these years he lived in her house like a blind man, a stranger who did not want to see and hear, who missed every opportunity to do something about his mother's decay, in reality only accelerated him and finally brought her to her grave.  
It was thoughts like these that wear Ken down.  
And while the offices sent letters of reminders and notarizations of compassion and threats as well as requests to vacate the apartment, Ken could only sit there and weep. To become an orphan at the age of nineteen was not easy, because nobody made it easy.  
Suddenly there was no one left to stop him or give him comforting words or simply hold him in his arms in the evening, because the school material grew over his head and his grades became worse and worse in the last year of all years, but he still wanted to go to university.  
Ken's aunt was the only one of his family left alive.  
It had taken time and had been complicated, but in the end she was left with all the responsibility because Ken was just too weak and young to deal with it all. He had received support from the people who had sent the letters, so Ken had to move in with his aunt, even though she didn't want him with her.  
But Ken had no choice, and neither did his aunt, as if they both had to put up with it because there was no other way.  
His mother's sister was neither a friendly nor a caring woman.  
Her favorite thing was to tell Ken in every way she could that he was unwanted. Everything he did was observed with Argus eyes and no matter what it was - on principle it was always the wrong thing.  
Ken was determined to move out as soon as possible. But it wasn't that simple.  
For while Ken mourned for his mother, tried to catch up on the school material, endured his aunt's attacks, had to somehow process the funeral and finally had to pass his examinations - then suddenly he developed a social phobia, as his later psychologist told him.  
Ken could not explain where it came from so suddenly and why it had to hit him and make everything even harder. In any case, the fact was that he was burdened by the company of others.  
He hated to be looked at or touched, he hated eating in front of strangers and it almost killed him to have to speak in front of many people. The oral exam was hell. His heart was already beating up to his throat in situations that were normal for other people anyway, his palms became wet, it was hot and he just wanted to leave.  
But most of the time he couldn't and that stressed him so much that Ken locked himself in his room for a long time and refused to come out again.  
Of course, he caused a lot of trouble with his aunt. Especially when he told her he couldn't possibly get on the overcrowded train and take the so much feared oral exam.  
But his aunt forced him into it, put him in her car and drove straight to school.  
When Ken thought about it today, it was the only thing he was really grateful for. He didn't know how, but in the end he had passed and could enrol at university. Ken was happy, although his fears were already breathing down his neck at that time. But it had gotten better. The therapy seemed to work, because little by little it was easier for him to bear touches, even if he didn't necessarily expect hugs from his aunt or anyone else anyway.  
However, his psychologist soon advised him to get more out of himself.  
Ken didn't really understand that, because that was exactly his problem. If he could, he would, but he couldn't and that's why he was there.  
But maybe he didn't understand something correctly. Perhaps his aunt was right and he had lost his mind, as she often threw loudly at his head in disputes.

You're crazy.

What is wrong with you?

I knew why I didn't want you here.

My poor sister. . . No wonder she collapsed at some point. You'll kill me too.

Ken was beginning to doubt himself. He must have been wrong. . .  
Ridiculously small problems that seemed so terribly big to him at the time.  
And everyone else saw them as what they really were - insignificant.

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

 

Ghouls had not found a place in Ken's life. He heard and saw news, reports of terrible incidents, so terrible that they could not be attributed to anyone, but in the end it passed him by. Every word. Every researcher with his theories, every CCG investigator who gave an interview, every warning – just everything. Because to think about it Ken simply lacked time and strength. Ghouls seemed to exist forever far away from his life. It was much more likely to die in traffic or an ordinary accident than to fall victim to a ghoul.  
That's why Ken's biggest fear was still the people before, before the university failure and before the party the same night he received his acceptance confirmation at Kamii University. Hide was his best and only friend, who had always endured it with him, no matter how difficult it was. And when he invited him to that party with him, Ken had remembered the words of his psychologist. Get out of yourself. This was his chance. Try it. Get out of yourself. Let others into his life. No more hiding. Become more open.

Come on, Ken. You can do it!

"Yes, gladly," he had replied to Hide, who at first looked so surprised as if he had just heard something almost incomprehensible, but who then smiled and rejoiced, exuberantly embraced him, so that Ken could hardly breathe and the closeness became unpleasant for him again. But he remained silent, endured it and even returned the hug.  
Because it felt like a triumph. Just to promise. Just to get involved.  
It had been so hard. At that moment, however, Ken was happy. Very glad. Go out for a celebration. He could do that. He's sure it is. He just couldn't let up. Keep fighting. Not letting his fears get him down.  
A few hours later Ken had the overwhelming urge to cancel the whole thing, but did not give in. Hide wouldn't have let it happen.  
"Come on, buddy. I know you can do this. Have a little more faith. It'll be fun, you'll see. "  
Ken hadn't heard so many encouraging words in a long time. Therefore. . . he couldn't back down either. Disappointing someone was a very unpleasant experience, which Ken always tried to avoid, but often did not make it. A thing that could be incredibly frustrating. Hide sat on the couch with him, it was 5:00 p. m., in two hours at the earliest they would leave.  
The party would be at one of Hide's friends'.  
Ken didn't know him. He would also not know the rest of the people who celebrated there and the thought of it automatically drove an ice-cold shiver down his spine.  
He would have liked to have told Hide that he might have taken over a little bit after all.  
That he would much rather stay here, finish the film and then go home.  
But he didn't. Every time Hide took his eyes off the TV and looked at him, he would give him a cheerful smile. Ken replied and tried to free himself convulsively from his doubts.  
How silly. There was absolutely no reason to be afraid. At that time Ken could not have known that he was completely wrong. In fact, there was a very good reason to be afraid of the events at the party. Only the horror came in a different form than Ken had expected.

"Are you coming?" Hide looked at him questioningly, had already left the apartment and held the door open for him. Ken nodded hesitantly and also stepped into the stairwell. Hide locked the door.  
"There," he said and put the key in his jacket pocket.  
"Here we go at last! Are you ready for fun?" Hide grinned, was obviously looking forward to going out to celebrate today and to switch off a little.  
"Not really," Ken, on the other hand, muttered discontentedly, standing unsteadily next to Hide.  
"Oh, my gosh. Don't worry, it will be all right," Hide tried to cheer him up. Ken took a deep breath. No, he could not be weak again now under any circumstances. Open up more. That was all he had to do.  
"Yeah, you're right," Ken agreed with a determination that surprised him.  
"Attitude right! That's the Ken I want to see today," Hide laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Together they set off. Ken ignored his ever more violently beating heart and the bad feeling that set in, like an annoying parasite. 

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

 

"Hey, you two," greeted hides' already drunk friend when they entered the party location. It was loud, full and unpleasant. Ken immediately felt the familiar heat of fear rising within him and unconsciously urged closer to Hide, who was his only caregiver in this chaos.  
It was probably a stupid idea to come here.  
But before Ken even had a chance to escape all this, Hide pushed him into the middle of the turmoil with gentle force. Ken held his breath in shock. The sheer panic in his face, he was pushed further and further.

I can't stand it.

I can't do this.

I really can't do this!

Hide didn't seem to notice anything about the anxiety attack. Talked and laughed with some people who were completely strangers to Ken, while the basses were booming in his ears and he saw nothing but numerous people and felt their bodies on his. Ken lost his bearings within a few moments.  
At some point the pressure on his back eased.  
The house wasn't really that huge at all, but the thought of having lost Hide in the hustle closed his throat. Nervously Ken looked around, looking for a blond hairstyle in the crowd of celebrating teenagers.  
"Hide?!", he shouted about the loud music. There was no answer. Ken struggled for composure.  
Then someone tapped him on the shoulders and pointed with his finger in one direction.  
It was Hide's friend who had received her at the door. He said something else that Ken didn't understand before he disappeared back into the crowd.  
Ken looked after him, stumbled when someone suddenly bumped into him.  
How long he stood there so helpless and indecisive, he did not know.  
To try to overcome oneself at all between the dancing people to find a way to the edge was not easy.  
Something was wrong, Ken noticed very late.  
No wonder, as the screams were almost completely swallowed by the music.  
It was only when Ken was pushed more and more frequently that he began to understand that something was wrong. People were all moving in the same direction. Away from something. Ken had trouble not falling.  
Confused, he tried to find Hide, or at least the reason for this sudden uproar.  
In retrospect, he did not know what he had even thought in this situation. Maybe he just didn't think much.  
At some point the music had stopped. Agonizing screams replaced the booming bass and drilled their way into Ken's ear canal. The crowd had scattered, only a few pushed away, somewhere, and Ken drifted with them, further and further - until finally everything came to a standstill.  
Then the screams just got louder.  
If Ken hadn't been so paralyzed with shock, he might have screamed with them, even if he couldn't understand what caused the mass panic.  
At the latest when a severed head rolled in front of his feet. The stump of his neck was frayed, bloody, fleshy, his eyes staring lifeless and wide open towards him. Ken could do nothing but stare back, open his mouth as unbelievingly as the dead man. 

This is a nightmare.

What. . . ? How could this have happened?

That can't be. . . can not. . .

Ghoule had not found a place in Ken's life. Until they just took it.  
The masked figures were covered in blood and yet human. At least at first glance. Monster in human form.  
Ken had never quite believed the reports.  
What nonsense, they had mocked at that time in class.  
Why would they look like us? If that were true, how could they kill us without weapons? They must have claws, long fangs or something like that.  
You were mistaken. It was true. They really looked like people.  
But the CCG. . . and all the news channels. . . they didn't tell the people everything.  
They didn't tell them anything more about the Kagune or the Kakugan, the superhuman power and speed, the ability to regenerate and their bestial killing rage. But even if. . .  
Ken wouldn't have believed it. Not until he saw it with his own eyes.  
There was fear and blood in the air. Although Ken was only human, it seemed to him that he could taste both on his tongue.  
"Ahhh. That was funny," said one of the ghouls as his Kagune struck a man lying on the ground, reaching out his hand to Ken in search of help. The force was enormous and effortlessly shattered every bone in the young man's body. The dazzling hunting organ was wet with fresh blood and waved threateningly in the air.  
Ken's legs were shaking. If he had, he would have walked, but he still didn't want to move a muscle, not a fucking muscle and so he sat in front of the snake like a rabbit waiting to be eaten.  
"Where are the others?" asked a second ghoul unmoved.  
"Upstairs," replied a third.  
"You're not going to kill them all, are you? We need a few more. I hope they remember that, otherwise Big Madame will get angry. "  
Ken was no longer noticed, but without a doubt they had noticed him. After all, it had become quiet and empty downstairs in the meantime.  
Most had fled up the stairs or had been killed trying to escape and leave the house.  
"How many should we catch?"  
"I don't know. We didn't get any details. What difference does it make? Whether it's 14 or 15, who cares much?"  
"Hmm", one of the ghouls made it meaningful.  
"However. Let's get to work. "  
Ken was easy loot. It was therefore no surprise that they were the first to catch him. After all, there was nothing he could have done.  
He just stood there, very close to them, motionless, almost powerless, although his consciousness still worked.  
Ken didn't fight back, didn't even think about it. Clung to the hope that he would survive. That they would not rip his flesh from his bones or cut off his limbs or do other terrible things at any moment.  
In fact, nothing like that happened. He was just being held, way too tight.  
So much so that his fingers went numb because the grip around his arms was too strong. Held, tugged and pushed forward. There were others like him. Only slowly did the realization seep forward to him that they were prisoners.  
Ghoule, who captured people. Ken had never heard of it either.  
Normally, he should have been dead by now.  
What's the point of that?

What are they up to?

Where are they taking us?

Uncertainty brought with it fear. That's why it hasn't always been easy for Ken to face a stranger. Because he didn't know how he would react. Uncertainty was a really bad thing. But never as bad as now.  
Ken was put in a spacious car.  
The ghoul, who held him, roughly pushed him in and sat next to him.  
Her thighs touched. Ken immediately moved away from the man-eater as best he could. Only in passing did he notice that other people were forced to join.  
Anyone who caused trouble was punished. Screaming and tearing flesh cut occasionally through the otherwise silent night. Ken put his hands on his ears so he wouldn't have to hear. In addition, he squinted his eyes to stop seeing the grotesque theatre masks of the ghouls.  
Those horrible grimaces, with long teeth and big mouths.  
The car started to move at some point. Ken hesitantly lowered his hands and opened his eyes again. His body trembled with fear.  
The windows of the car were dark tinted, you couldn't see out.  
The driver was sitting behind a partition wall, so that the prisoners were not allowed to look out of the windscreen.  
He was thinking about Hide. Had he survived? Was he a prisoner too? He thought just as much about his mother.  
Maybe this was some kind of punishment for his ignorance. After all, it was his fault she was dead. He should have been more careful and even now he was blind again. There may have been indications that something like this was going to happen and he hadn't noticed it once. Ken even thought of his unpleasant aunt. How happy would he be if he could ever see her again? Just one more time. . .  
He would certainly change and not be a burden to her anymore. Never complain about her again. Or lock yourself in his room and talk back to her.  
All sense of time had been lost inside the car. It was dead silent.  
Only occasionally a quiet sob penetrated the iron silence.  
Ken didn't know how he was supposed to feel when they finally stopped.  
And now? What were the Ghoule planning to do with them? Where were they taken?  
The doors were opened, then they all got out. The ghoul next to Ken grabbed him so tight by the shoulder that he thought the pressure would break it instantly.  
"Hey, get up," the masked figure snorted at him. But Ken couldn't get up, he was paralyzed again. He also could not answer, communicate, explain that it simply did not work - therefore the strong hand moved to his neck, where it grabbed roughly again.  
The ghoul got out and dragged Ken around his neck. Once outside, his legs immediately kinked, breathing heavily, he landed next to the car on the wet, cold asphalt.  
It had started to rain.  
The ghoul stepped emphatically slowly beside him.  
His hand had relaxed for a moment, but now his finger clawed firmly into his victim's pitch-black hair. Ken's own hands snapped reflexively in front of him and clasped his kidnapper's wrist. He should let go. . . it hurt. Tears of desperation came to his eyes as he looked into the pale faces of the other prisoners. Ken had never seen so much hopelessness before.  
"Well then," said one of the ghouls.  
"This will be your new home. "  
With these words the man with the fiery red demon mask pointed to the dark building in front of them.  
"Well. . . at least if you survive longer than a few hours. You now belong to Big Madame.  
She'll do whatever she wants with you, and you'll put up with it. End of story. Any more questions? No? Good. Resistance is useless, no one will come to save you, who stands cross will regret it. You will fight or die. No one is spared. You suffer from an illness? Tough luck. Nobody here cares about your origin, your gender, your age, your former life or your sensitivities. Be thankful you even get the chance to survive. "  
Ken was dizzy from the words. Slowly he got a picture of what would await him. And it was an ugly picture.  
"Every day you will fight one of our butchers in the arena. I'll give you some good advice - kill them and take their place. Oh, and you'd do well to become an outstanding butcher, by the way. Nobody wants to see boring fights, so try to entertain the audience. You will learn everything else with the help of the learning-by-doing principle. It's up to you what you make of it. "  
Ken was desperately looking for Hide, but he could not find him anywhere. He didn't know whether this fact should make him feel better or even more frightened.

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

The cell he was taken to was narrow and damp. A rusty iron chain was put around his left anklet. The metal was ice-cold, so that it almost burned on his heated skin. Ken sat with his back against the wall, his legs pulled against his body and his chin prayed on his knees. A strange void had spread inside him while his body was still rebelling. Pure adrenaline rushed through his veins, made his heart race, the trembling of his muscles wouldn't stop either. Fight? He was supposed to be fighting?

Butchers.

Butchers.

Butchers.

What did that mean, butchers?

What kind of butchers?

He couldn't fight at all. Ken was neither particularly strong, nor had a good reaction speed, nor the will to hurt or even kill anyone. Never before had he done something to a living being.  
Even the thought of it had by no means forced itself upon him, not even with rage.  
His mother had finally taught him from an early age to respect others and to always be friendly, even if one did not face him in the same way.  
It was completely impossible.  
How could he forget his mother's words?  
Change his whole being?  
And in less than twenty-four hours?  
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be sent to some arena and fight a butcher. And lose. Die. Something else was out of the question.  
Ken's stomach was cramping with nervousness. He was sick, terribly sick.  
The stench in the cellar vault, where cells crowded together like his own, was disgusting. It smelled of all body waste, decay and death.  
Ken pinched his eyes when another wave of nausea arose.  
Survival. . . How could anyone ever survive in this horrible place?  
In the cell to his left, separated by bars, the same as at the cell door, lay a curved person. She didn't move.  
Ken could not say exactly which sex the prisoner had, after all he could not recognize the face of the human being. He could actually only see a section of the back and shoulder area.  
The right cell was apparently empty, but a whimper and quiet murmur came from this direction permanently to his ears. Across from him was the dark hallway Ken knew he was leading out. However, he would never find his way to the surface, for he was blindfolded as they descended into the cellar vault.  
They had walked for a little while, sometimes to the left, then to the right, straight ahead, sometimes Ken felt as if they had walked in a circle.  
However it was turned and turned, this place had to be large and very branched.  
Even if he managed to break out somehow, even if this already bordered on pure utopia, he would never find his way out.  
Especially since Ken was pretty sure they would find him before he had covered a significant distance.  
He thought he had at least once heard that ghouls had sharper senses than humans. He'd be heard.  
A loud sound from the right frightened Ken.  
"No! No, I don't want to! For God's sake, get me out of here! Get me out of here! I don't want to die, shit! Fuck!"  
The rattling of an iron chain, followed by the squeaking, metallic rattling of the lattice door echoed through the vault.  
Apparently, someone shook it around like a man possessed.  
Ken flinched when a bang sounded, a punch or kick maybe.  
If he hadn't been so afraid to talk to strangers, he might have tried to calm him down.  
But Ken didn't know what to say or if he could overcome himself, so he just kept quiet while someone was raging next to him in the cell until he had no more strength and was crying. Ken just hoped no one would come and see who made that noise.  
For he who did not behave was punished. . .  
A while passed. At some point the sobbing stopped. Ken also felt the need to cry, but his eyes were strangely dry and burning.  
"Hey, you. . . ", a brittle voice rang out. Surprised, Ken turned his head.  
"Hey. . . Come here. Can you. . . Can you please come here? Please. . . "  
Ken swallowed heavily, looked around unsteadily, before he finally hesitantly slipped to the wall, where a small grid was set into the massive wall.  
He couldn't possibly ignore the request, could he? If you approached him, it was much easier for Ken to overcome himself and to get in contact with others.  
The stranger's face was unhealthy pale, his eyes strongly reddened. His lower lip shook, his brown hair was sticking out of his head.  
"What's your name? What's your name?"  
Ken forced himself into a shallow smile.  
"Hello. . . I'm Ken. Ken Kaneki. "  
"I see. Okay, huh, Ken? How are you doing? I'm Omura. Listen. . . we need to get out of here. We've got to get out before the next day starts. I don't know how much time we have left, but if we don't do something, we're dead, okay?"  
"Okay," Ken just repeated bluntly with a slight nod and swallowed heavily.  
"Yes, right, right. . . " Omura muttered erratically.  
"So let's get out of here. Together. If we manage to be in a cell together, we could somehow break down the door with combined forces. We. . . maybe there's a way. . . You know, like, take off and squeeze through it or something. "  
Ken nodded again. And he knew it was impossible. After all, there was still the iron chain at her feet, which Omura had apparently completely faded out. It had not been easy to get as far as the adjacent cell wall. Omura grabbed the grid with trembling hands, tried to pull it somehow out of the wall. However, it did not move at all.  
"Help me," he doggedly demanded. Ken lowered his eyes. Black strands of hair fell before his eyes.  
Maybe. . . should he say something? That it was pointless? Because of this fucking chain?  
"I. . . I don't think we. . . "  
"What?! What don't you think?"  
In view of the aggressive tone of voice, Ken automatically moved back a little.  
"The iron chain. . . Even if we loosen the grid, we can't move far. "  
Omura stopped.  
"Oh, yes," he said in a strangely lifeless tone.  
"It has to come off first. Thanks, that's right.“ Ken kept quiet while Omura talked. But actually he didn't even talk to him anymore, but to himself.  
Only after a few minutes did Omura's eyes look for Ken's again.  
"I'll take these off and come back, yeah? Somehow that must work. I can handle it. "  
"Okay," Ken just said again. There was hardly any way to get rid of the rope.  
Solid iron could not be dissolved. Not without suitable tools.  
In any case, the ghouls had taken everything from them. Ken had nothing left.  
Not his watch, not his cell phone. Even handkerchiefs and other small things had been collected. He is surprised they were even allowed to keep their clothes on.  
Temporarily, they were told.  
Temporarily and most of them would soon no longer need any clothes anyway.  
Dead men didn't need anything anymore.  
Ken leaned against the wall again, pulled his legs close to his body and stared at the iron chain, frowning. If they at least had more time at their disposal.  
More time to think, to plan. But even that was denied them. It will tomorrow. slaughterers. . . Butcher already sounded like a painful death. A man who cut them up, tore them to pieces, slit them. Or was it not human in the end? Either way. Ken could not win a direct duel. He´s wondering if his aunt would miss him.  
Or did she end up glad he wasn't there?  
"It would be nice. . .. if you came looking for me. . . ", Ken muttered and closed his eyes.  
The adrenaline began to fade away, and gradually he became more and more tired.  
Omura next door was quiet. At irregular intervals there was a grinding noise, nothing that could wake him up now. But Ken didn't really sleep either. He fell more into some kind of restless twilight state. His body was exhausted, so was his mind, and at the same time he was infinitely agitated.  
So tomorrow he would die. All that remained was to hope that it would at least go quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Ken blinked. When he woke up, he was lying on his side, pushed tight against the wall.  
In the first moment his head was still empty, in the second he filled himself with so many thoughts that a pressing pain pounded behind his forehead.  
Carefully, Ken straightened up. It was dark. Yesterday at least one faint light bulb had cast a pale light on the corridor in front of his cell, now total darkness prevailed.  
He wondered if it was night.  
Ken rubbed his eyes. Gradually they began to get used to the new lighting conditions. In the end it probably didn't matter. . . Nothing played one anymore.  
His situation could hardly be any more hopeless. Ken spent a whole time listening. After steps. Words. Quiet whimpering. Anything at all. But it was so quiet, as if he was already lying in a grave. Ken would be happy if he didn't have to spend the last moments of his life in silence. Strange, isn't it? After all, he had always longed for absolute peace.  
He was still thinking about addressing Omura.  
If he slept, he would even wake him up, yes, even Ken was ready for it in the meantime and somehow it was ironic, because it wouldn't bring him anything out of himself for the future. Nevertheless. His psychologist might be a little proud of him. When the light suddenly flickered, Ken slipped back over the cold floor to the grid.  
"Omura?" he whispered and took a look into the other cell. No response.  
"Omura!" he repeated a little louder. He couldn't see the other one. Only the iron chain was in his field of vision. Ken swallowed heavily.  
Try again or let it stay? The fear of attracting attention made his tongue strangely heavy. Ken clenched his teeth and clenched his hands.  
"Omura!" The chain started moving, rattling quietly.  
"Um," Ken said insecurely.  
"It's me, Ken. Can you. . . maybe you could free yourself?"  
What a silly question. But he simply hadn't thought of anything else and besides, Ken himself even had an outrageously small spark of hope that it had worked out. It took him a while to hear Omura's voice over the rattling of the chain links.  
"No. . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please. . . forgive me. "  
Ken swallowed again and moistened his dry lips.  
"It's all right. Don't be sorry. . . I. . . " 

I didn't expect it in the first place. 

Omura looked as bad as Ken felt. His eyes were reddened and seemed strangely sunken. Under them black shadows had formed, his hair already made a matte impression. He's completely exhausted, Ken thought, wondering involuntarily if he looked the same. He wouldn't be surprised.  
"B-But maybe I should have. . . If I had tried harder. . . "  
Omura lowered his eyes. A single tear dripped to the ground. Ken fixed the dark spot she left.  
"At least you tried," he said in a rough voice, trying to imitate Hides' encouraging smile. However, Ken did not manage more than a faint twitching of the corners of his mouth. Omura shook his head. "You know what? You really are a nice guy. I'm sorry you're stuck here too. You deserve better. " Ken was surprised by these words and it was kind of nice to hear them before he died.  
"Thank you. . . You. . . um. You're very kind too. "  
Omura laughed briefly before shaking his head again.  
"No, no. I've fucked up a lot. Good performance, after all, I am far from of age. But hey. "At least I've had a little more experience before it ends. " Omura obviously fought with himself. His voice broke in the last part of his sentence. He wiped tears from his eyes and breathed in shaky and noisily.  
"God knows I wasn't always nice to my fellow human beings. Probably a lot of it was my fault, too. " Ken hesitated.  
"Yeah, I kind of feel the same way. I don't think much different. . . But I guess we all make mistakes, don't we?" Omura nodded stiffly. They remained silent, and each of them hung on to his own thoughts. "Did you know many people at the party? My friends are all dead," Omura took up the conversation again with an empty look. Before Ken got around to giving an answer, steps made him listen.  
"Someone's coming“, he whispered to Omura, who froze completely. Ken hastily moved away from his cell neighbor. He was sure it was better if no one saw them talking to each other.  
The footsteps were getting closer, Ken was getting more and more nervous. His gaze flew restlessly from Omura, who remained motionless, to the passage. Ken slipped into the farthest corner of his cell, where no light reached him and made himself as small as possible. Whoever came up to them was certainly up to no good. Ken pinched his eyes tightly when the footsteps were so close that they sounded terribly loud in his ears. His heart was beating much too fast, restlessly and irregularly. It was terribly unusual, it felt like it was tripping several times. It certainly stays the same, Ken thought and clawed his fingers into his black hoodie looking for support. The footsteps came to a halt, Ken held his breath tense.  
"Was that everybody?“  
That voice sounded weird. Neither really deep, nor bright. But smoky, almost scratchy and not very pleasant. Ken opened his eyes again, took a quick look. Right in front of his cell door stood two figures. The one, corpulent and broad - with short, light and curly hair, a leather hat with a medium wide brim and sunglasses with pitch-black lenses. Ken had never seen such an ugly woman before. Her shapeless face was heavily make-up. Thick lips blood-red, too intense blush on her greasy cheeks. She wore expensive jewelry. Diamond earrings, several golden rings adorned her thick fingers. In addition, she had carefully applied nail polish. Her massive body was wrapped in an expensive, extravagant dress. It made Ken nervous that he couldn't see where she was looking because of her sunglasses. Probably this was Big Madame the ghouls had been talking about when they were brought in. A strong contrast was formed by the young, dainty girl next to her. White-blond hair poured down her back. She was wearing a red headband and an airy dress that just reached down to her knees. Her skin was pure and very pale, as if it had rarely seen the sun.  
She was so pretty, it would have been easy to think of her as a doll. Quite enchanting. Her eyes were big and ruby red - only her fixed, matte look frightened Ken somehow. He wondered if they were both Ghoule. "All right, then. I hate to settle for b-ware, but I think it should do for slaughter. "  
Ken shot those words through his teeth. He couldn't even really say why, because it was only logical that a human life was worth nothing to ghouls. Gradually, however, he began to understand the extent of his situation more and more clearly. 

B-ware. 

Butchering. 

Butchers. 

It is hard to believe that these words were mentioned in connection with people. Living, sentient people. Probably better he'd already died at the party.  
His future was as black, as abysmal and uniformly black as space, and so did Ken somehow feel - as if he were floating in an endless, dark heavelessness. If he wanted to live, he had to kill. Not to be a B-ware for slaughtering, but to reach for the knife yourself. To amuse a sick, disgusting audience of monsters who would feed not only on their flesh but also on their suffering. Ken put his hand on his mouth. On the one hand to suppress the emerging feeling of a nausea, on the other hand to keep his hectic breathing as noiseless as possible. With horrified eyes Ken continued to stare at the two figures, which somehow became more and more threatening and threatening the longer he stayed like this.  
"Ahh, those idiots. If you want something done right, you better do it yourself. But then again. . . Too much effort doesn't do me any good. "  
The obese ghoula apparently talked to herself, because the girl did not react.  
She just stood there staring meaninglessly into space. Really like a doll, Ken thought, while watching them.  
Only now did he notice the metal ring around her neck. It looked like a necklace, a chain ended in Big Madame's hand. Not a ghoula, but a prisoner like him.  
"Juuzou, darling. "  
The sound of her name suddenly brought her back to life.  
"Yes?" Her voice was high and yet had little femininity. Somehow Ken was irritated by this pitch.  
"You'll help your mama sort out the trash, won't you?"  
Juuzou didn't hesitate a second.  
"Of course," she replied emotionlessly.  
"Say it. Say it right," Big Madame demanded, whereupon the girl's gaze slowly wandered to the ground.  
"Yes, I'll help you, Mom. I'm a good boy. . . "  
Ken's confusion got bigger. Could it be that. . . 

What's that? 

What's going on here? 

Is this girl in reality. . . a boy? 

Big Madame seemed very pleased with that answer. A cruel smile stole from her shapeless face, her eyes sparkled with malice - at least that was the expression Ken vividly imagined behind her tinted lenses.  
"Very good. Yeah, that's right. Make your mama proud, will you? After all, she doesn't want to punish you that much today. But you're not giving her a choice, your score is just too low. " Big Madame talked like she was talking to a little kid or a cute puppy. She gently grasped Juuzou's chin and forced him to look at her. But his gaze just seemed to go through her.  
"Please don't disappoint me again. You know I get angry quickly and then I can't control myself. "  
Juuzou hardly flinched when Big Madame let him go and patted his head with her mighty hand.  
"I don't think we both want something like yesterday to happen again, do we?"  
"No, Mama," Juuzou replied, slightly absent.  
"All right, so what do you want?"  
"Make you proud, mama. "  
"And why would you do that?"  
"I want to be a good boy. "  
"Why?"  
"To make you love me. "  
"And. . . ?"  
"You don't have to hurt me anymore. "  
Ken crashed when suddenly the sound of a slap sounded. The movement was so fast that it was impossible to follow. The lamp flickered as if it no longer wanted to illuminate this absurd scenario. Juuzou's face was in the shade.  
"Oh, my goodness. . . When are you gonna get it?"  
"I thought. . . " Juuzou started, but was immediately interrupted.  
"It's not your job to think. I just want you to kill and look pretty. "  
"Yes, mama. I'm sorry," he replied impassive. But there was not much left of Big Madame's initial satisfaction.  
"My patience is very, very limited today. You better pull yourself together or you want to be punished? Sometimes I feel like you're deliberately challenging it. . . Do you like it?"  
"No!", for the first time Juuzou's voice sounded alive.  
"No?" Big Madame repeated with a smug grin. Ken couldn't bear the sight of it.  
"So. . . Then why do you want to make your mom proud?"  
"To make you love me," Juuzou repeated obviously nervously.  
"And. . . ?", Big Madame was craving another, false answer.  
"Because. . . . because. . . ", his restless gaze scurried around as if he hoped to find a clue somewhere that could help him.  
"Yeah?", Big Madame urged with an impatience in her voice that made even Ken's heart beat a few beats faster. He would have preferred to intervene, to do something to defuse this intolerable situation, but there was absolutely nothing he could have done.  
"I. . . don't know," Juuzou's voice was so thin that it almost broke in the middle.  
"Of course not!", Big Madame laughed as if she was amusing herself with a good joke. Surprised, Juuzou blinked, Ken shared the surprise.  
"It's okay if you don't know. You don't have to know anything, darling. "  
With these words she framed his face with her coarse hands and stroked his lower lip with her thumb. A little bit lipstick stuck on it.  
"Just kill them, all right? Do you do this for mommy? Right now? Let's get started, shall we?" Juuzous smiled stiffly.  
"Yes, I will kill them. I'll kill them all, just the way you want me to. Slowly, so that I finally reach 100 points!"  
The monotony had given way to a cruel euphoria.  
Ken bit his lower lip. First light, then so strong that he tasted blood. He didn't really understand and at the same time he understood enough. 

No two ghouls. 

Just a ghoula and a victim. 

Not a girl, but a boy who just looked like a girl and wore a dress. 

And actually not a victim, but a butcher. 

Ken didn't know what to think. Everything that had now emerged seemed inappropriate. Completely unrealistic and wrong.  
A butcher. . . He had imagined something else.  
A tall, muscular man with a meat axe in his hand and a white apron with red speckles overlooked. With blood. Human blood.  
But he seemed to have had a completely incorrect picture.  
Or was the reality possibly incorrect?  
Ken felt a sharp pain on his left temple.  
His throat was bloody dry. It's hard to swallow.  
Juuzou was not a butcher, could not possibly be one, as little as he had nothing in common with such a coarse, brutal word. Anyway, he didn't understand why he was dressed like a girl or why he called this ghoul mama or what points he was talking about and why his grin had something infinitely insane about it, so that his whole appearance somehow resembled a butcher in a bizarre way.  
In the end Ken wasn't much smarter than at the beginning and if he was honest, then he didn't want to know more. And he didn't need to know. He wasn't supposed to be here at all.  
He belongs in his life as an orphan, who lived with his unfriendly aunt and had feelings of guilt and social phobia and soon started with university and went to this damn psychologist every week and had meaningless conversations. And God, he missed all this so terribly that the very thought of it drove tears into his eyes. 

I want it back. Give me back my old life! 

Even in the unlikely event that he would survive even one of those fights, he wasn't sure he even wanted to. He'd stop living either way. Either die here or just start to exist. Maybe he'd turn out a little like that Juuzou. Dollish. He certainly wouldn't be very pretty, but just as rigid and cold. But actually it was all bullshit because Ken would just break up. He could already feel the first cracks. However, Big Madame had found her way back to her satisfaction.  
"Very nice. Time for the first victim. . . And once we pick one, we'll change you. I don't want my dress to get dirty. "  
"Yes, sounds good. . . " agreed Juuzou, whose pitch oscillated between excitement and boredom. Ken didn't know how to feel about those words either. Panic wrestled with resignation. He hoped he wouldn't be thrown into the arena right now to fight. 

Please don't. 

Not so soon. I can't die so soon! 

Ken pressed himself close to the wall behind him. If only he could sink into the dirty stone, if the material could only absorb him and make him disappear. He hoped Big Madame's looking eye wouldn't find him.  
"Let's just take someone. It's just a warm-up anyway. "  
Juuzou looked at her in silence.  
"Hm, this one," said Big Madame a few moments later and started moving. The chain, which was connected to the metal ring around Juuzou's neck, began to tighten. Ken looked down in a hurry when Juuzou suddenly looked in his direction for no apparent reason. Black strands of hair hung over his eyes, Ken didn't dare to even think about pulling them aside. He didn't move an inch. Only when the now almost familiar sound of a rattling chain sounded, he looked up carefully. Juuzou took them half-heartedly, as if he were briefly considering whether he should work against the train. A brutal jolt forward finally made him stumble two steps in that same direction. Then Juuzou left on his own. 

She really treats him like a dog. Or an object. 

That was horrible, Ken could just find it horrible, even though he knew that this compassion was shared by someone who killed others. Who was still a butcher. 

Yeah, but just to survive, right? 

 

Ken couldn't say what he should think about it. In fact, it was pretty impossible to get even a clear thought out of the confused clump in his head.  
The next thing that cut through his mind like a warm knife through butter was a scream. The fine hairs in his neck stood up instantly. He had never heard anything like that. And fuck, he knew the voice!  
Omura. Ken's body was immediately under high tension. He hastily crawled to the grid, but could not overcome to take a look into the neighbouring cell. He had still pressed his hand firmly onto his mouth, the nausea returned with unimagined intensity.  
"S-Stay the hell away from me," Omura yelled in panic. Ken could imagine what would happen to him, it was so obvious, so incomprehensibly obvious, that he might as well have claimed to know every detail of it in advance. Like a psychic.  
A muffled sound, dragging steps, another muffled sound, it sounded a little like an impact, Omura's screams, more dragging steps and finally a whimper.  
"Oh, my goodness. Be a man and stop screaming! You can't stand that in your head. " It wasn't long before Big Madame walked past Ken's cell. In one fleshy hand she still had Juuzou's chain, in the other she had clawed her fingers into Omura's hair and pulled him across the floor with her. He could not escape the power of the massive ghoula, no matter how much he wriggled. Juuzou followed the two with some distance, his gaze fixed on Omura, in the deep red of his eyes a dark sparkle. Ken twitched as Omura reached out and held on to the grid door of his cell. The metal trembled, desperately he tried to keep it clutched with all means.  
"Fuckin' hell, that can't be true! Leave me alone, you monsters! Fuck! Ken, help me!"  
It felt more appealed as if suddenly glowing lava was shooting through his veins at the sound of his name. The heat was unbearable, the shock was deep in his limbs. Big Madame stopped immediately, Juuzou looked over at him again. Hectically Ken slid back into his corner, pulling his legs as close to his body as possible and hiding his face by placing his forehead on his knees.  
"Ken, you fucking coward! Do something!" Omura's voice had risen a few octaves in panic.  
"Well, well. I haven't seen him before, seems a little shy. Have you two made friends? Almost cute, but don't worry. You may meet again on the other side sooner or later. "  
Ken did not look up, continued to hide, although he was already discovered and counted the length of his raging heart.  
Omura screamed and he said many things that weren't nice at all, but Ken wasn't angry with him. He couldn't, and the situation they were in was definitely the wrong one. 

You fucking asshole! 

Wanker! 

You cowardly cocksucker, I hate you! Goddamn it, at least look at me when I'm talking to you! Do something, will you? 

But Ken didn't do anything, so he guess he deserved to be called like that. After all. . . he should have at least tried, but he just couldn't. He was unable to open his mouth or move - so that was fine. So he was an asshole and a wanker and a cocksucker. He couldn't change it. 

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

 

Ken didn't know how long he stayed in this pathetic position, but at some point his back hurt and to make matters worse his bladder was squeezing, although he had the feeling that he hadn't drunk anything for ages - but that wasn't true. A little later, Ken also noticed his empty stomach.  
He had eaten something the last time yesterday morning, even before meeting Hide. While they had hung out together and waited for them to go to the party, he had been so sick that he had simply gotten nothing down. Something he regretted now.

On the other hand. . . I'll be dead soon anyway. So what am I still thinking about? 

How can you be hungry now? You know exactly what they're going to do to Omura. You really are disgusting. 

Ken clenched his hands in his hair so tight it hurt. This made the picture, as Big Madame Omura had grinded away, even more vivid. He would have this sight before his eyes until his death. Cold sweat stuck to his neck and back. Meanwhile he was freezing terribly, the adrenaline had died down, the imaginary heat with her.  
It wasn't easy for Ken to get up. He swayed briefly because suddenly he was so dizzy and had to rest his hand on the wall to regain his balance.  
Ken staggered into the diagonally opposite corner.  
It cost him quite a bit of overcoming, but he had no other choice and quickly relieved himself before he went back to his favorite place in this disgusting prison and settled down again. He ignored the pain in his back.  
Ken did nothing but listen to the silence. He missed his sense of time, which once again let him down.  
Sometimes it seemed to him as if the seconds crept sluggishly away, then again it seemed as if hours were just flying by. Ken pressed his hands on his empty stomach.  
He was still hungry. Sometimes the known nausea caught up with him, but hunger was definitely stronger. His throat was so dry, his throat felt sore and burning strangely.  
Eventually, raging cheers echoed over to him. Slowly Ken turned his head in the direction from which the loud applause sounded. Applaud. Somebody applauded.  
Ken blinked. Right, one of the Ghoule who brought them here spoke of an audience. So there really was an audience. Suddenly the applause was frighteningly logical.  
Ken was glad that the cheering of the crowd completely swallowed Omura's agonizing cries. He could still hear his voice, the insults, echoing in his ears and that was enough. That was quite enough. When Ken thought about it, he realized how long it took.  
How long the audience cheered on Juuzou, the butcher.  
How long they all laboured with Omura's suffering, how long Juuzou allowed himself time to kill him, how long this fight, which was not a fight at all, was drawn - it took a little eternity until finally peace returned.  
Ken stretched his stiff limbs. He couldn't name how he was supposed to feel at that moment. Strangely relieved - after all it was finally over - on the other hand sad and angry at the same time.  
And then there was this dangerous resignation inside him, this soft voice whispering evil things to him that were in his head and that he could not hide, no matter how hard he pressed his hands on his ears. His aunt was wrong. He hadn't lost his mind yet, it started now.  
Ken was strangely fascinated by how quickly his psyche let him down and at the same time it was again so typical for the weak little Ken, who couldn't get anything on his own anyway.

 

Hey, Ken. Still hungry, huh? 

Hey, have you noticed? Omura's dead! 

Serves him right. He shouldn't have jumped on you like that. You were right to let him die like your mother! 

Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Omura! Please! I wanted to help you, but. . . 

Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack - the clock is running. Your dead soon. Then you can apologize to him and crawl to crosses! 

I knew it! I knew it very well! That's not why I wanted to go to this party. It's much better to lock yourself in your room. Get out of yourself. Yeah, great, psychologist! Your advice is killing me! I'm dying because of you, are you satisfied? 

Hide. . . Where the hell are you, Hide? Why did you leave me alone? 

I'm not important enough. I'm not important enough to anyone. Hide and my aunt. . . They don't really care where I am. 

Come on! Come on! Come and get me at last! Take me to the arena! I don't want any more. . . I'm tired of sitting here. 

"J-Just be quiet!"  
Ken's breath went irregularly and hectically over his cracked lips, with his flat hand he banged himself violently against his forehead.  
After that it was actually quiet again. Ken wiped his eyes and then lowered his hand. She was trembling. Exhausted, he leaned his head against the wall behind him and stared at the grey ceiling. Ken laughed softly.  
"Okay. . . Okay, so here we go, huh? Haha, pathetic. I actually just got insane, didn't I? This is. . . Yeah, that's really ridiculous. "  
If Ken didn't believe in one thing, it was an afterlife. Not particularly uplifting in view of his current situation, but he would hardly begin to pray to god and hope to be led into nirvana.  
Ken had always been terribly realistic and although he understood and accepted the faith of other people, it was out of the question for him to pray to a god himself. Dying meant for him to sink into an infinite blackness, similar to the status sleep, only never to wake up again with the simple difference.  
Ken wasn't sure if he should be relieved or depressed about it.  
"There are always at least two ways of looking at things. . . ", he whispered and began to draw invisible circles next to him on the cold stone floor, as he used to do in sand when he was a child.  
His mother's face had been pretty. Ken especially liked her eyes because they weren't just brown, like most people from Japan, but much brighter.  
That had always made her special. Ken also had very bright eyes, probably inherited them directly from her. 

"Look Ken“, she had said back when he was only seven and was enthroned on her lap like a king. He wore a paper crown on his head.  
"Your eyes. . . Aren't they beautiful? So much nicer than mine. All gray, isn't it?“  
Ken had smiled and nodded in agreement, even though he still found his mother's much prettier than his own.  
"Grey is a very rare colour. You know what they remind me of?“ Waiting, his mother looked at him, a gentle smile on her lips. He shook his head slowly.  
"A warm rainy day.“ Disappointed Ken had then pushed forward the lower lip.  
"But rain is stupid!“, he had then said and his mother laughed. God, how much did he love her? What would he give to hear her laugh again?  
"Oh, no, Ken. The rain cleanses. When I was a little girl, I loved to play outside in the summer while it was pouring out of buckets. And also. . . ", his mother stagnated, her smile faded and her bright eyes seemed to get a little darker, "I met your father on a day like this.“

She'd rarely talked about him. Only very rarely. Ken could barely remember his face, it had slipped away from him over time. Death was inevitable and although he was still very young, Ken had already seen him more often than he liked it. But maybe he lost a little bit of his horror the longer Ken sat in his cell and thought about dying. Somehow he suddenly wished there was something after death. Anything at all. For his sake for a moment. It would be really nice if he could see his parents again and take them in his arms.  
"Mom! Look, that is Hide!“  
His mother was so happy for him when he played with Hide. They let toy planes fly, fought with action figures, watched anime and played their favourite scenes out in the garden. Hide had often gone home with him after school and stayed until dinner before returning. His mother loved cooking for them, even if it meant more work for her. Ken shook his head as he thought back. 

Thank you, Mom. . . And Hide. . . I'm sorry for what I was thinking earlier. You've always been my best friend. If anyone would look for me and be sad about my passing, it would be you. 

Ken stopped drawing circles with his finger. He heard someone coming. As the footsteps finally fell silent in front of his cell door, he slowly raised his eyes.  
"Hey," said the tall ghoul with a diabolical grin and threw something at him. Out of reflex, Ken caught it without realizing what it was. In his fist the object felt long, thin and cold. He hardly dared to open it.  
Only carefully did he finally do it after the ghoul mockingly urged him to do so.  
In the palm of his hand was a severed finger. The flesh so worn at the end that you could see the pale bone sticking out. In addition, the nail was missing, dried blood took up this space completely. Ken dropped him right away.  
"From your friend. He suffered wonderfully. Now it's your turn. "  
Ken wasn't hungry anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter comes the already expected fight! ;)  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe it was a little late to regret. Yet Ken forced himself into countless situations in which he had definitely failed. Things he could have done better.  
If only he hadn't been such a coward. . .  
He had made a particularly big mistake in middle school.  
Tamaki had always been wild. He ignored the numerous admonitions of their teachers, he was always fooling around in class, had climbed trees during breaks, had recreated samurai sword fights with sticks and otherwise did everything they were not allowed to do.  
His parents were ashamed of their son, of his bad behaviour, which brought nothing but shame to the family - but the other children secretly admired him.  
Ken was no exception. Tamaki impressed him as he did everyone else.  
Ken had always been shy and introverted, so he seldom dared to tell others what he thought.  
Tamaki had one day, as so often, climbed a tree again. He wanted to make it to the top. The others had cheered him on, but Ken didn't think it was a good idea from the beginning. If only he'd said: Hey, Tamaki. Come down, it's too dangerous.  
If only he had just said so, no matter if the others would think of him as a bore. If he had just got his mouth open. But Ken said nothing and finally it came as it had to come - Tamaki fell, the branches of the old tree were rotten and could not carry his weight. He fell and something cracked on impact - but Tamaki didn't scream. Instead, he creaked softly and then laughed.  
Laughed with embarrassment, although he didn't even notice his bladder emptying because he had no feeling, no control over the lower part of his body. He felt nothing. From then on Tamaki was paraplegic.  
He never came back to school, they never saw him after the accident.  
Ken had written him a letter, but never got an answer.  
And all because he hadn't said anything. Coward. What a coward he was. Omura was so right, oh God, Omura and why did he let his mother down like that? What was so hard about saying to her, "It's okay, Mom. I'll handle this. You don't have to do everything on your own, I'm here.“  
Why didn't he say so?! Why didn't he do anything, why didn't he ever do anything, why?!  
Ken blinked at the bright spotlight.  
Because it's no use, he thought bitter.  
Because it just doesn't make sense.  
Ken knew when a fight was lost and the moment the ghouls brought him into this fucking car at the party, everything had already been lost.  
He still regretted it.  
When the ghoul brought him into the arena, Ken felt weak on his feet. He did not resist, let himself be guided by him, because he was much too busy not to fall. His knees were shaking. If he'd fallen, he'd have just been dragged over the floor like Omura. The corridor seemed infinitely long to him.  
Their footsteps echoed strangely muffled from the walls again. Ken stared straight. He did not want to pay attention to the many cells on his right. Didn't want to see the prisoners.  
It had been weird. The whole situation had passed him like a hazy veil. That ghoul next to him might as well have been human. He talked to him as if they were just taking a little walk. Ken didn't listen. The mere knowledge that the person next to him was by no means a human being made everything so much more threatening. After all, it could change at any time. If this ghoul wanted to, for whatever reason, he could kill him on the spot. But nothing like that happened. Ken was chased through a big, iron gate. He immediately pressed himself against the wall, into the shade, where the headlights could not reach him with their bright light. The massive gate slammed loudly behind him, the floor seemed to vibrate. That he was about to die, Ken had more or less come to terms with that.  
What made his heart almost explode with excitement were rather the expectant looks, the numerous people on the circular grandstands, with brightly coloured masks, noble prints, clothes and jewellery. Some had binoculars with them, as if they were watching a play in the opera, in the crowd Ken could also see women with expansive compartments wagging a little air. He didn't want to be stared at.  
He didn't want to die, least of all in front of these. . . these. . . The realization seeped into Ken's mind, but they had all come here only to watch with diabolical joy how he was slowly being dismembered. That it was something completely natural for them to watch a person die. That it amused them as if they were watching a good film at the cinema.  
That the audience by no means had even a spark of morality in their bodies, consisted of a bunch of disgusting beasts and there would be no one who possessed even the slightest bit of empathy. Suddenly his whole body felt strangely numb. He had no feeling left in his limbs, his head was strangely heavy, but the expected vertigo did not occur. Ken forced himself to breathe in and out calmly to somehow avoid the onset of the panic attack. 

Or I won't. I'm just gonna stop it and hope I pass out. 

The thought was tempting, but in the end he kept breathing as evenly as possible. Slowly. Take it real easy. In and out. In and out. In and out.  
Ken's gaze scurried nervously through the arena. There was no exit, no way to escape. Of course he hadn't expected it either and yet this statement was like a blow to the stomach. Ken became extremely tense when the audience suddenly became restless. He felt something was about to happen. In fact, one man emerged from the crowd. He stood high up on a kind of podium and had to have an incredibly good overview from there. The ghoul raised his hands, the audience suddenly became mute again. The silence was so all-embracing that it rang in Ken's ears. "Well then," the more intensively the moderator's fixed voice sounded after a short artistic break.  
"Let's start the next round! We have waited longingly for our next fighter. You could almost feel sorry for the fresh meat - Juuzou is after all the best butcher we have to offer. Do you think any of the newcomers even have a chance? There's not much left of the last one!"  
The showmaster's words sparked rapturous cheers and laughter. Ken gritted his teeth and wished that lightning would strike them all. In his pocket, Omura's finger suddenly felt very heavy. It's like he's suddenly turned to lead. Ken wasn't sure what had driven him to pick it up and take it, but somehow it made him feel good. It would have been nice if he could have buried the piece of Omura that had remained.  
"Maybe our next candidate will have better luck? I doubt it, but let's be surprised. The knife, please," the presenter demanded in a good mood and with a cheerful verve in his voice that made Ken taste bitter bile on his tongue. 

What kind of sick shit is this?! 

He blinked hard. Without him noticing, tears came out of his eyes. He didn't really cry at all. He energetically wiped away the liquid.  
It wasn't that Ken calculated any chances, but from the depths of his despair a strange determination crept up to the surface. He did not even flinch back when a knife in front of him, exactly on the line where light and shadow met, stuck the ground. Only on the sidelines Ken registered what kind of force it must have been thrown with. I can no longer hide, he thought, hands clenched in fists.  
I have to get out of there. I have to.  
Ken didn't hear what the host said. He concentrated fully on taking one step ahead of the others, bending down, pulling the knife out of the ground with some effort and stepping into the light. Concentration. All he had left was pure concentration. Try to hide the audience. To shut his mind from his rebellious body.  
"Ohh", he heard the presenter's surprised shout.  
Dumb, like he's underwater right now. As tightly as he could, Ken clutched the cold grip of the knife in his hand until his fingers became more and more clasped and stiff. It was almost as if he could never let it go. "Well, well, well. Someone must have found a little courage on the direct way to hell and voluntarily dared to go into the spotlight, as it looks like. Let's see if this is enough to last longer than ten seconds. Ladies and gentlemen! Let's start the fight and welcome our very popular butcher - Juuzou!"  
Ken vigorously suppressed the nervous trembling of his muscles when the gate on the opposite side was opened. The thunderous applause of the audience was hardly bearable.  
While Ken felt so tense that his skin could burst open and his inner self turned out, Juuzou strolled into the arena with a serenity that could hardly be surpassed in its unnaturalness. If Ken hadn't known, he wouldn't have recognized Juuzou. His hair looked much brighter, pure white in the spotlight. They were now much shorter, did not even reach up to his shoulder, were wild and covered his eyes. The upper half of his face was additionally covered by a mask, he was no longer wearing a dress, but a sporty, black tank top and dark trousers. In his hands he turned a long, wide butcher's knife. Ken's wasn't even half the size. Still walking, Juuzou suddenly tore away the mask in a flowing, practiced movement and stopped only a few meters away from him. Without the make-up, his facial features seemed much more masculine, even though they still seemed very soft.  
Juuzou grinned, regularly punching his palm with the blunt side of the knife as if he were holding a baseball bat and impatiently waiting for the first ball with which the game would inevitably begin. The audience was still cheering.  
"You already know my face," Ken read from his lips, as it was impossible to understand even one word acoustically. At first he didn't know what Juuzou was getting at until he followed his gaze and saw the mask lying on the floor.  
"I want to see you die face to face," he added, noting with thieving joy that Ken understood him well despite the abnormal volume. He then held his knife in an unguided position in front of his body and bit his cheek so firmly from the inside until he had the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Juuzou, on the other hand, shifted his weight only slightly, fixed him, saw every little twitch in Ken's body, analyzed his pathetic attempt to oppose him. 

It's gonna be easy. 

This and nothing else Ken could see crystal clear in the facial expressions of his counterpart, yes, he had to think something like that right now. Something like that.  
The applause finally stopped after a felt eternity. "Ready, stady, go!" called the host and gave the hand signal Juuzou had been waiting for.  
"Run," he purred, with an insane expression in his red eyes. Ken, however, did not move. Everything shouted at him to do exactly that, but he was frozen, stuck in his fighting position, which wasn't really a fighting position at all. Juuzou pulled his eyebrows together in irritation and took a step towards him as he whirled the knife so skilfully in his hand that the blade faded, almost invisible.  
"Can't you hear me? I said run." Ken's chest rose and lowered quickly.  
Just the thought of the knife cutting his skin into his flesh left him with a sweat of fear on his forehead. His veins suddenly pumped so much adrenaline again that he almost felt high.  
"You. . . ", Ken put on and moistened his brittle lips with his tongue, "you don't have to do this. " Juuzou stopped abruptly, the knife lay calmly and loosely in his hand again. His counterpart looked him attentively in the eyes. Lurking, Ken thought. He's lurking. Wait. . . What the fuck was he waiting for?  
Ken took advantage of this reaction to speak quickly. Talk. That's right, he had to talk. He couldn't do more than talk. He couldn't possibly have really fought. Ken got muddled several times as the next words hectically came across his lips. "You really don't have to," he repeated to buy time, to have time to find a plausible reason that supported this statement. Talking. . . Talking was his only chance. If he went along with it. . . Juuzou took a long look into the audience that was now so quiet that Ken had forgotten his existence. "Yes. I think I do.“  
The next moment something whizzed past him at high speed, grazed his cheek, which immediately began to burn. Something cool ran over his skin, Ken grasped reflexively. 

Blood? Did he. . . threw the knife? But how. . . he didn't even really look my way?! 

Juuzou, however, still held the butcher's knife in his hands. 

He's had two all this time, Ken realized all of a sudden. Two knives he moves as if it were just one.  
Juuzou, who was still looking at the expectant audience, just looked at him out of the corner of his eye.  
"Still don't want to run, no?"  
Ken pressed the entire palm of his hand onto the fresh wound, his chest raised and lowered violently. He was feverishly searching for a solution, for a way to somehow survive this thing - but there is no way out.  
Ken bent down slowly, laid the knife almost devoutly on the floor, felt Juuzou's burning look in his neck, which immediately began to tingle. Surrender. He guess there was hardly anything he could do but give up. Give up, and thus deny this disgusting audience the bloody fight they wanted so much after they greedily craved. Ken stood up again, raised his hands and waited with trembling legs, which would happen next. He heard unbelieving murmurs from the stands. Juuzou looked him in the face before his gaze glided down to the knife.  
"Oh? Looks like our fresh meat is refusing to fight? Too bad, too bad. But good. It's not like it's any use to him. . . Juuzou's not gonna feel sorry for him, is he?"  
The crowd sang a loud, uniform "No". Gossiping and stomping in time, cheering on their butcher. It was as if the audience was merging into a single, huge organism.  
"I won't. . . ", Ken screamed over the noise, his voice broke several times, but he. . . he wanted to make it clear once more that he would never. . .  
"I will not fight you! I don't care, I'm not doing this!"  
Juuzou tilted his head questioningly, turned back to him completely.  
"Who said anything about fighting? I told you to run. "  
Ken had wanted to stand still, but his instinct for self-preservation came up suddenly and with an intensity that surprised him. Juuzou pounced on him like a wild animal. Ken had still been quick-witted to grab his knife, but Juuzou tore him to the ground, grabbed him with one hand on his left shoulder, squeezed him down while holding up the flashing butcher's knife in the other hand and tore up his knee at the same moment to beat him powerfully against his chin. Ken's jaws collided violently. He was lucky he didn't accidentally bite off his tongue. Juuzou was much stronger than he was, as Ken quickly noticed. He tried to throw the other from him, pressed panically against his chest, wanted to press his arms aside and finally got him to grab his neck without being able to squeeze hard enough. Under his fingers he felt Juuzou's raging pulse.  
The white-haired man sat on his hip, wanted to fix him with his weight and stab him. Ken became so dizzy from all the physical contact and his concentrated fear of death that he had the feeling of losing consciousness at any moment.  
"Haha, don't die so fast, yeah? You have to hold on a bit, I want to break my high score! 25 points, 50 points, 75 points - that's not enough, I need at least 100! At least!" Ken hissed as the blade grazed his arm. He fought back with his hands and feet, acted purely instinctively, his conventional thinking had completely shut itself off. He heard Juuzou's shrill voice, but did not hear a single word consciously, just wanted to somehow put both hands around his attacker's neck. But it didn't work. Again and again he had to let go to cling Juuzou's wrist instead to somehow stop the knife before it could drill into him. K en gasped with effort. Breathing was difficult for him, Juuzou slipped higher with the intention of sitting on his chest to make it even harder for him to get enough air. While Ken panicked and realized that his powers were slowly leaving him, Juuzou seemed to have enough energy to try to drive the knife into his flesh forever. 

I can't make it.  
I can't make it! 

Juuzou had already registered his exhaustion.  
"Are you exhausted yet? Hah? Hah? Fight back! Fight back, don't stop! We're just getting started?!"  
Ken groaned as the knife inflicted another wound on him. The cuts were not particularly deep, but still terribly painful. Juuzou's lips were twisted into a mad smile, his eyes wide open, Ken felt his tense muscles, his body warmth, he was glowing, his murderousness was almost tangible. By a hair Ken would have reacted too slowly. Reflexively, his hands rushed out, grabbing Juuzou's wrist at the last moment and preventing him from drowning the knife in his eye. The tip floated only a few centimetres above him. But Ken felt within a blink of an eye that he could not possibly withstand the pressure Juuzou exerted with one hand. "How many points does an eye give? An eye. . . One eye, must give a lot, right? It hurts. . . It must hurt and that's why you get points! And also. . . and it bleeds a lot, too. . . haha. Come on, give me your eye, yeah?"  
Ken pinched both eyes together as the tip approached, adjusting to the pain, because Juuzou was far too strong, he could no longer stop him.  
"Stop!" Juuzou turned abruptly after the voice, left noticeably relaxed. And Ken's muscles finally failed at that moment.  
"Stop it, Juuzou, honey. No, no, no. There are plenty of others you can cut into pieces, let me take a quick look at this one. "  
Ken didn't know what the words would trigger in him. Relief or revulsion? He immediately realized that it was Big Madame who was talking. Juuzou did not move, his body still seemed to be under high tension, the jaw musculature emerged clearly, he breathed chopped off and also the confused expression in his eyes did not really want to give way.  
Big Madame weighed down the stands and entered the arena. It was suddenly so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. Juuzou watched her closely and as she approached, he finally reluctantly rose. It was a very strange, unpleasant feeling to know that someone had tried to kill you like that. Ken immediately distanced himself from Juuzou when his weight no longer prevented him from moving freely.  
He slipped away from him, then further back, because Big Madame came right at him and oh God, why couldn't she just turn around again?  
Eventually he remained helpless, one hand held up, his body half bent together. "N-Not. . . ", he stuttered. Big Madame had her sunglasses on again with the pitch-black lenses, Ken could not even begin to see what she was looking at, but he still felt only too clearly her exploratory gaze resting on him. Juuzou stood diagonally behind her and looked at him hostilely. He really didn't seem to like being interrupted. Ken finally lowered his hand with a wild heart after a while when nothing at all happened. He wonder if she'd kill him herself now. Fearfully he looked for a clue in her rough face. What had she interrupted the fight for? Why didn't she let him die as planned? Ken feared the answer. He was really scared.  
"Hmm", Big Madame hummed meaningful.  
"It's pretty unusual for a man to put his weapon down on his own. . . They usually pounce on my darling Juuzou as if from their senses. " Ken almost laughed humorlessly when he heard that. With a simple gesture she meant to get closer to Juuzou. He followed this request, looked at Big Madame questioningly. Meanwhile he could see a little more clarity in his eyes. She ran her hand rudely through his hair before putting it in his neck. Juuzou seemed to feel a little uncomfortable as he bobbed restlessly from one leg to the other.  
"Let's see, let's see. What do we do with you," Big Madame finally said. Ken blinked in surprise.  
"You're almost too good to die on. . . Well. "  
As she thought about it, she cuddled Juuzou's neck, which relaxed a bit, but still looked very critically at him. Ken couldn't bear to be looked at so closely. He dodged his gaze and stubbornly fixed the floor.  
In this terribly long moment, the concentrated attention of each individual rested on him. Ken had the urge to make himself small, to curl up and then to close his eyes undisturbed.  
"Get up," Big Madame finally demanded. His heart was beating up to his neck as he looked up to her. She had now crossed her arms in front of her voluptuous chest, her head slightly lowered. Juuzou next to her observed the situation critically. Eyebrows slightly pulled together, taking a similar position to Big Madame. 

What the hell are you doing? 

Ken was aware that the answer could not be positive at all and yet he would have liked the cruel certainty at the moment.  
It wasn't easy getting up. The ground seemed to sway, almost losing balance, but then managed to stand upright on his shaky legs. Isolated, muffled laughter came to his ears. 

Why are they laughing? 

What's so funny? 

Ken clenched his teeth so tightly that they gritted quietly. Damned audience. Just made things a lot worse. If they knew what was causing it in him, they would probably only be more amused by all this. Ken stumbled backwards reflexively when Big Madame suddenly reached for him. But he wasn't fast enough. She grabbed him by the collar and tore him forward with such force that the swing almost landed him in her arms.  
An idea that let waves of revulsion spill through his body and manifested itself as unpleasant goose bumps. If he hadn't suddenly become so stiff, he might even have tried to tear himself away - the situation was hardly bearable. Ken wished he could just disappear, make himself invisible or even vanish into thin air. Big Madame was so close that he could even see the contours of her eyes behind the tinted glass.  
"So, so", she said and her lips twisted into an ugly smile as the syllables slowly rolled over her tongue.  
"Yeah, this might work. Let me see. "  
Ken twitched back, but coarse fingers got to grab him under the jaw. At first he thought she would squeeze him and strangle him in front of everyone. Instead, however, she only gently turned his head back and forth to take a close look at him. Ken didn't know what she was looking for. Her fingers felt strangely greasy on his skin. Finally she seemed to have found what she was looking for, let him go and made a sound reminiscent of a girl squeaking with rapture. Perplex retreated and light as a feather touched the spot where he was held. He felt she was on fire.  
"Fine, fine. You can live a little longer. Take him away. "  
No sooner had these words been spoken than two figures broke free from the silent audience and approached him directly. Ken just looked at them. He could no longer see the cursed theatre masks, even when he closed his eyes, they appeared before his inner eye. Juuzou, meanwhile, was visibly confused by Big Madame's gaze, which caught him and clicked his tongue.  
"Well. . . really too bad, but for this fight these would be. . . Zero points. "  
"But. . . !" Juuzou immediately protested, his face even paler in shock than before. Ken also felt strangely frightened by this statement. There was something absolute about it, something hopeless. Zero. To have nothing, to have achieved nothing.  
"Quiet," Big Madame interrupted immediately with a relentless voice.  
"You're about to have another fight. "  
Juuzou clutched the knife so firmly in his hand that the ankles emerged white. Surprised, Ken noticed that he was shaking slightly, only slightly, and if he hadn't observed this scene so closely, he probably wouldn't have even noticed it. Suddenly Juuzou lost his threat. Ken didn't really understand himself because he had just tried to kill him and that hadn't changed, but still. . . In retrospect, he was surprised why his own fate was so unimportant at that moment, why he suddenly felt more like a spectator, even though he was right in the middle of the action. He didn't even realize he was being held.  
"But that can't be. . . " Juuzou finally brought out.  
"That's not enough, most people die at 45 points. "  
"Oh yeah?" made Big Madame stretched as if something completely new had just been told to her. She was present at every fight.  
"Well, you need 100, darling. "  
Big Madame spoke this sentence with a naturalness that could hardly be surpassed and smiled maliciously.  
"It's all right," she said conciliatorily and patted him again.  
"It's for your own good," she said in a comforting tone. Juuzou's face relaxed, his body also seemed strangely limp all of a sudden. Apparently, the knife almost slipped out of his hand. Ken couldn't help but look at him while he was being taken away.  
He's given up. 

Ken couldn't say why he felt so bad about it. After all, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't help it and Juuzou wasn't the victim. Not directly at least. It was not that Ken understood much of what they were talking about, but that there was a point system associated with the type of killing and any punishments was relatively obvious. 

Punishment. What was it supposed to look like, a punishment like that? 

Ken could have guessed. It had to be something painful. If Big Madame treated her butchers, Juuzou, like animals, it could almost only be related to that. 

He involuntarily remembered the upper school material in biology. Classical conditioning. He knew about this system in connection with Pavlov's dog. The whole thing had to do with learning behaviour and works to influence certain actions. This would mean: A high number of points formed the attraction, triggered the expectation of a positive event and thus a certain action. In that case. . . Murder.  
Closely linked to this was conditional inhibition, learning by punishment.  
But Ken couldn't really say what was to be stopped.  
Empathy perhaps, Ken thought sluggishly as he was led out of the arena. Punishment at a few points, points depending on cruelty. Yeah, something like that.  
Ken had heard from her teacher that all these principles also worked for humans and yet it was strange now to think so intensely about it and realize that it was true. 

So we're like dogs? 

Ken smiled involuntarily.  
This statement was absurd and appropriate in equal measure and somehow it was the only thing that could make him smile at all in this situation.  
It distracted. Ken didn't waste any thought on what would happen to him now. Or why he hadn't stopped breathing yet.  
Or what would happen to Juuzou, the butcher, in detail. 

Ken let himself be guided. It was as if he literally drifted along the subterranean corridor littered with cells, anxious not to lift his gaze from the grey, stony ground in order to be able to continue living in the illusion that it was so. Only the screeching sound of the opening cell door tore him back to reality. Ken got locked up again.  
How he should feel about it was unclear to him. He should actually be happy about it, after all he was still alive, contrary to expectations, but instead only an all-encompassing, heavy feeling of hopelessness overcame him.  
It was a small eternity before Ken awoke from his peculiar rigidity and absolute inactivity. He was walking around a bit. First from left to right, then in a circle, and from right to left.  
An inner restlessness had suddenly taken possession of him, made him wander around until he became tired. Asleep, he kneeled down and rubbed his eyes. His hands felt rough, sweaty and dirty.  
He wish he had water. Both to quench his thirst and to purify it. Ken sighed.  
So there he was. . . alive, but. . . for how much longer? What would happen to him next? Would he even get water or food?  
Ken already felt that his body did not take the unfamiliar strain very well. Meanwhile he was getting dizzy again and again.  
The urge to rub his eyes again was there when his field of vision became a little unclear, but he laid his hands in his lap and blinked until it became clearer again.  
The silence was really unbearable and the knowledge that Omura was no longer there, that there was nobody left with whom he could at least talk to, was gruelling. Ken suddenly felt terribly lonely.  
At some point he took Omura's finger out of his pocket and laid it timidly in front of him on the floor. Stared at him. Sense tears in his eyes. But Ken forced himself to hold them back.  
"I'm sorry I didn't-- not. . . you know, I can't really. . . "  
Ken frowned. He had forgotten what he had wanted to say and why he even bothered. Maybe he better stop talking. It only cost energy and you wouldn't hear his words any more anyway. "You were right, by the way. I really am a coward," Ken muttered nevertheless.  
It felt kind of good to talk, even though it was exhausting. That's why he automatically went on with it.  
"I'm not brave at all. To be honest, it has always cost me to share my thoughts with others. Really. So. . . you were right. I'm a coward, and that's why I haven't even tried anything to help you. "  
Ken took a break, thought what else he would say if Omura could hear him.  
"I'm sorry for what happened to you. And I don't even know why I'm here anymore. I'm scared. I've never been so scared before, although the social phobia sometimes really. . .it was really horrible. But that can't be compared. I don't know what they're up to. And while I'm sitting here waiting for whatever it is, I realize that. . . maybe I'm starting to freak out. Cause hey, I'm talking to you. And that alone is proof enough, isn't it?"  
Ken laughed nervously, short and humorless. Then he remained silent, the silence enveloped him again.  
Of course, he did not receive an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

The floor was cold. Ken lay motionless on his back and stared up to the ceiling. Lost in thought, he strode his hand over the rough ground.   
The inaction was overwhelming. To keep himself busy and distract from his thirst and hunger, he remembered the time before the party. 

About Hide setting him up with that girl from the cafe. However, he did not think much of such methods. It rarely worked anyway, and who would want someone like him?  
She was too pretty and he was too clumsy. But they seemed to have something in common - she happened to hold his absolute favourite book in her hands.  
He was ashamed of himself back then when Hide actually went to her after a heated discussion and she asked if she might go out with Ken, his best buddy in the world. Have a cup of coffee, for example.

"Why didn't he ask me personally?", she had wanted to know surprised and began to roll one of her long, lilac-coloured strands of hair between her fingers. Ken had heard exactly that question and was blushed.  
"He's very shy, but at least as sweet," Hide grined, after which Ken became even more embarrassed.  
"Okay, I'd love to. I'm Rize, by the way. "  
With these words and a charming smile she had given Hide a little piece of paper with her number and the suggestion for a meeting, including date, time and place. Before she left, she smiled at Ken, waving timidly at him.

Did she really. . . ? 

Ken could hardly believe it. Hide walked back over to him smiling over both ears.  
"Here, my good man. You can thank me later," he said patronizingly and put the piece of paper in front of him on the table. The handwriting was filigree and clean. Curiously Ken looked at it, although he meanwhile half-heartedly grumbled at Hide that he would not go anyway, because he was much too scared.

6:30, Friday, Anteiku

The meeting had indeed not taken place - because he was here, locked up in a cellar vault in a dirty cell. Captured by ghouls without even the slightest hope of ever coming out again.  
Nobody knew where he was. No one could ever find him. Even if someone were really looking for him. Ken wondered if Rize was wondering if he didn't show up for her meeting. Or would she perhaps not be surprised because he had given the impression anyway that he could not overcome appearing? But maybe Rize himself wouldn't be sitting in antique on Friday at 6. 30 pm and wouldn't miss him at all.

And Hide could be dead. The thought strangled his throat, but that was to be expected. Yeah, what if he was alive? Either he was also captured and taken somewhere else or he. . . he actually escaped. That's another possibility. A possibility Ken was all too fond of clinging to. . . 

If Hide was alive, he might have a chance. Then Hide could report the massacre. Inform the CCG and his aunt. Explain what terrible things happened. And then his aunt would know he was either dead or kidnapped. Ken felt like he had something strangely bitter on his tongue.  
What she'd do in that case? 

Hoping, Im dead and she get rid of me, it shot Ken first in the head.  
At the same moment he felt guilty of thinking so badly about his last close relative. After all, his aunt finally took him in. Admittedly, the offices had not made it easy for her to refuse, but. . . she could have actually.

On the other hand, it was hard to imagine that she would have a great impact on his fate. To be decent, she might pretend to be worried and sporadically ask if there were any new insights - but that's all Ken was sure of, nothing more.  
Their relationship was too bad for that. Too much had happened between them.

Yuuichi, Ken's cousin, wouldn't miss him either. It wasn't like they had been fighting all the time, but there was no positive, friendly relationship either. Although they knew each other from the earliest childhood, they maintained a polite distance. Yuuichi had always been superficially kind to him, but his deeds and words did not come from the heart. Ken never knew what was the best way to deal with his cousin. When they were younger, there were significantly fewer complications. 

They had played and laughed together a lot at that time, but at some point it had become less. Both of them started to change. While Ken became increasingly introverted after the early death of his father, Yuuichi clearly gained maturity and thus also rigour.  
His parents' divorce had left its mark on him. Ken finally saw him less and less at family celebrations. 

The gaunt and pale boy with the square horn-rimmed glasses kept learning for school and was in some way frighteningly similar to Ken. Contact between them broke off.  
Only when Ken moved in with his aunt did they have to get along again - and realize that many things had really changed.

Yuuichi was even more disciplined and Ken even more introverted.  
They hardly got in each other's way. As long as Ken didn't make a mess or interfere with his cousin's study, there was no tension between them.  
The only thing that always bothered Ken was the constant preference from his aunt for Yuuichi. He got everything and Ken got nothing. Somewhere a little understandable, but also terribly unfair.

Maybe Ken should have worked harder. At least he could have approached Yuuichi more, because there was actually no reason to avoid each other so much. They had gotten on well once. An approximation would not have been so far off. In view of his situation, he first realized how ridiculous his behavior had been.

What was he so afraid of? Why?  
There was no reason to be afraid, he just had it now. His psychologist was probably right after all. Yes, he was right.  
Yuuichi never seemed to be bothered by Ken's presence. If he had approached him more, they could have made friends again. Then there would be one person in the world looking for him more now.  
But Yuuichi, as he was, wouldn't have much reason to be.

His aunt, on the other hand, had always been a different chapter. A more difficult one.  
It wasn't like Ken wanted to cause her any problems. On the contrary. Actually he had even wanted to be a help to her - but quickly had to realize that he was not wanted either way. That his presence was undesirable. That's why Ken retired more and more, which was not right in the eyes of his aunt.

How ungrateful. Who does he think he is? That he's something better? I'm sure it's not good enough for him here. Who knows how much my sister spoiled him. 

Ken was very sad about how his behavior was perceived and he never knew what he could change. Every attempt failed. It was frustrating.  
He would have liked to talk to Yuuichi many times. Ask his advice. But he didn't dare. The fear was too strong. Before the answer, the rejection.

When Ken finally locked himself in his room many times, there were even much more frequent arguments. After all, he also refused to have dinner with them, which for him, however, consisted only of loud, subtly pointed remarks and complaints about his'impossible, cheeky nature' anyway.  
Ken just didn't know what to do. He felt so overwhelmed.

He could not cope with his mother's death, the stress at school increased, dealing with his classmates became a torture and he could no longer meet Hide often. Despite therapy, it had been ages since he felt really good. The exams finally gave him the rest, he didn't want to take them. The fear of failure was overwhelming. But Ken's aunt had really blown up in anger.

With an unfortunate lowering of the corners of his mouth, he thought back to lying in bed, pulling the blanket over his head, squeezing his eyes tightly, while his aunt hammered her fists against the locked door from outside until he thought he was getting migraine from the noise.   
Eventually, he gave in for the silly fear that his aunt might at some point break through the door like an angry bull and take him by the horns. Ken had to listen to a hefty lecture and had been dragged into the car on his arm and had found his aunt's harsh behaviour disturbing, but in hindsight he had to admit that it had been necessary.

And maybe. . . Maybe his aunt cared about him after all. Otherwise it could not have mattered to her whether he took the exams or not.  
But his future was apparently important to her.  
Ken wasn't sure, but there was something comforting about the thought. That's why he liked him. Because it was kind of comfortable.  
Quite different from all the bad fears that would now happen to him.

Time was almost too much. So damn much time to think about what the hell had happened in the arena. Why Big Madame may have interrupted the fight. Why she had patterned him so intensively, what she was looking for and saw in him. Whatever her intention was - he was only alive for this one reason.  
Juuzou would have killed him without a doubt. Slow and torturous, like Omura.  
There had been no feeling in him. No pity, just as the audience predicted.  
And Ken wouldn't believe it, wanted to try to talk to him. Explain that they didn't have to fight each other. But that was not true, as he finally realized. They had to. 

Because whatever Big Madame did to Juuzou if he disobeyed, Ken could only imagine that it had to be something cruel.  
And nothing else would blossom for him either.  
Should he become a monster too? A butcher? Also punished if he refused? Or would another fate await him after all? Ken didn't want to imagine any of this. Everything that happened down here in the smelly, bloodied vault could only be repulsive and disgusting. ..

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

It's been spookily quiet for hours. Nothing moved. At some point he got used to it. Ken was about to slip into a dim state when he heard the quiet, treacherous sound of a cell door opening. Then again. And once more. In short intervals. Over and over again. Ken counted the seconds. Less than twenty.  
He slowly straightened up. Somebody came and brought something to the prisoner. Mistrust prevailed, although a little hope also sprouted up in him.  
Bringing. . . bring. . . What could they bring them? Food? Water?  
Oh, God, Ken thought desperately. Please. . . Please, one of them.

Ken flinched as a ghoul with a white, filigree decorated opera mask suddenly appeared silently in front of his cell. He opened the gate with a key and put down a simple, opaque plastic bottle. 

He disappeared immediately after carefully locking the cell door. Ken remained motionless for a moment before carefully crawling to it on all fours, unscrewing the lid and looking in. He almost counted on blood or something similarly ghastly and was therefore all the more relieved to find a clear liquid in it. Tentatively, he lifted the bottle with both hands. Stared inside for a while, at the calm surface.  
He wonder if it really was water.  
Strangely enough, he could not let go of the thought that it could also be poison.  
But that was unlikely.

It made no sense to spare him in the arena, only to let him die unseen in his cell. He smelled on it insecure for a moment. Nothing. It must have been water.  
He hesitantly put the bottle one on his lips. But when the first drops touched his tongue and ran down his throat, there was no stopping him. Ken had almost forgotten how terribly thirsty he was. This made him all the more aware of how much he really needed the liquid at that moment.  
Greedily he started drinking, stopped breathing completely, just swallowed. 

Fine runnels slipped by, over the corners of his mouth, his neck, dripped onto his lap, the floor and left dark spots. Only when the bottle was completely emptied did Ken put it down and took a deep breath, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.  
He put the bottle next to him, wished he had more. The worst thirst was quenched, but he felt it was still not enough. At the same time, he was afraid that he would have to do without water again for a long time. It would have been better if he'd kept some of that. Ken pulled his eyebrows together angrily. He had certainly been too hasty in that respect. 

Something that usually didn't look anything like him. He had acted purely instinctively without thinking much about what was strange and completely unfamiliar.  
I don't like it, thought Ken, whom fatigue caught up with against his will. However, he lacked the strength to fight it, so he lay on his side, grabbed the empty bottle and turned it thoughtfully in his hands.  
This place was different somehow. As if all the laws of the world were invalid in this godforsaken place.  
Ken used to think way too much. More than might have been good for him.

It would probably have been easier on his soul if he hadn't constantly asked himself how others perceived him. What he could do better. He didn't want to leave a strange impression, he didn't want to attract attention at all, especially not negatively. Hide had often kept him from dwelling on such considerations for too long. It's giving Ken an unpleasant stab. Every time he remembered what had happened to Hide. God, he missed him so much. What would he give to talk to him now?

If only Hide were here. . .

Ken shook his head abruptly. No. No, absolutely not!  
How selfish of him to wish for such a thing.  
Hide didn't deserve this shit. Nobody had that, but he least of all. Ken swallowed heavily, his throat was dry and rough like sandpaper again.  
But it could only be pure imagination. Nevertheless. . .  
Ken really should have kept some of that water. . . To make matters worse, his stomach growled again after a while. Ken wrapped his arms around it as if he could contain the noise.

He was really sick with hunger. Or stress. He actually didn't know that very well. Ken squeezed his eyelids more than necessary and started waiting again. Waiting for something to happen.  
The thin cuts on his arms burned slightly. The longer he lay like that, the more intensively he perceived this. Occasionally it even throbbed strangely. Ken put the water bottle aside and rolled up his sleeves. As expected, however, only fine, red lines ran through his skin. He was lucky. Or Juuzou hurt him intentionally only slightly because he wanted to improve in the course of the fight. Although it was the crueller possibility, he suspected the latter was true. Ken couldn't stop it, he shuddered.

He carefully grazed the sleeves again over the fresh wounds. The injuries were mild, but they were still hurting.  
It was really annoying that his thoughts constantly wandered in directions that could only be described as unpleasant. Automatically he wondered what kind of pain a deeper cut would have caused. He laboriously shook off such considerations.  
In the end, he just drove himself crazy. Ken sighed heavily.  
He sounded a little like his uncle, he thought. 

He always sighed so much when he had something on his mind. Or if his wife was getting on his nerves.   
All the time, actually. In the end, it was no wonder the marriage hadn't lasted. Both were always lying in the family's ears how terrible each other was and that they had only married and started a family anyway, because society demanded it of them.  
Otherwise Yuuichi would never have existed, and neither would the love between his parents. Ken was sure it had never been easy for him either. But it was hard to say what was going on in Yuuichi. He always seemed a little unapproachable and cool, almost as if most around him did not concern him at all. Maybe this was his way of dealing with it.

Anyway, Ken was glad it was different with him. His parents had loved each other very much.  
And he was a child of desire.  
That was to know. . . kind of beautiful. Right now, in his hopeless situation.  
Comforting. He felt a little better.  
At the same time it made him sad to think of his mother again. And his father.

But he felt more sad about his mother. After all, he had known them correctly, had had plenty of time to take them firmly into his heart. But he had lost her much too early for that. His father too, but he hardly knew him in return. Something Ken always regretted.

When Hide was picked up from school, his father usually did. He would always come up to him, smiling, stroking his son lovingly through his blonde hair before taking him in his arms. That was something Ken had longed for, too. 

For a time he had even been terribly jealous of Hide. But with the years the childish envy disappeared and he was just happy to have his mother.  
Their bond was much stronger than most - after all, they only had each other.  
There was something that was always a little bit more intense than with the other mothers and their children.  
That was probably the reason why her death had hit him so badly.

It was almost as if a bullet had shredded his heart and when trying to repair it, the parts had grown together incorrectly.  
Eventually Ken felt as if it had suddenly become impossible for him to interact with his environment. That must be how his social phobia developed.  
And he had no one to catch him.  
He was falling himself now, only with the difference that it was even worse.  
His fate was still uncertain. What would happen to him, he couldn't say. It was like an absolute withdrawal of control. Control of his life. Ken was incapable of doing anything about it. Frustrating. Nerve-racking. Waiting was really all that remained.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

Time did not stop, even if it seemed to be this way inside a cell, inside an underground cellar complex. That's why someone had to come at some point. If Ken was sure about one thing, it's that they obviously wouldn't let him and the other prisoners down here just die. The excitement when he heard footsteps echo down the long, dark corridor to him had already diminished considerably. 

His heart rate increased, but no longer advanced to such dizzying heights as at the beginning of his imprisonment. Despite the typical restlessness that arose in him the louder the steps became, Ken stopped this time. Staring at the wall. Only when he heard his cell door opened did he turn his gaze.  
"Here," said the ghoul, wearing a mask remotely reminiscent of the Phantom of the Opera, and threw a stack of clothes into the cell.  
"Put this on. " With these words and a long squeaking of the rusty door Ken was left alone.

What's the point of that? What for?   
Sceptically Ken looked at the clean, neatly folded garments.  
Really weird. . . What would he do with that?  
What reason could there be for giving him other clothes?  
Somewhere he was almost happy to be able to get out of his own sweaty things, but on the other hand he had a bad feeling. A bad premonition. Even if it was a question of harmless demands. . . There had to be something behind it.

However, he had no idea. He had been spared and now he got something new to wear. Even very pretty, expensive stuff. It is unlikely that he was sent back into the arena. . .  
After all, he had heard Big Madame say she had to change Juuzou before he could fight. The beautiful dress should remain clean. Then it certainly wasn't any different with him, was it? Ken grabbed the stack of fresh clothes and pulled him closer to him. Should he really. . . ? Ken bit his lower lip. There was hardly any other choice left for him, so he carefully unfolded the shirt. 

The fabric was wine red, thin, but also very soft and smooth. It almost felt a little like silk. Carefully he laid it on his lap before reaching for his pants. It was black, too long and too wide. But with the help of the enclosed leather belt it should work. He could probably roll his trouser legs up at the ends.   
Although there was no one to see him, Ken felt uncomfortable as he took off his own clothes. Only now, when the sweater landed next to him on the floor, did he feel how cold it actually was down here. Goose bumps formed immediately, the hair on his arms and in the neck stood up. 

He felt dirty, but still quickly put on his shirt. He had no way to wash anyway. He carefully buttoned it up to the top, only then he took off his trousers and put on the new one. Since he had not received any shoes, he then slipped back into his worn sneakers. As expected, the trouser legs were clearly too long, even reaching down to the floor. Since he had nothing to do anyway, he finally folded up his old things and put Omura's fingers on them at the end. Ken looked at him sadly for a moment before he put his palms together and said a short prayer for him. 

So quiet that he could barely hear it himself. The last time he prayed was when he was a little boy. His father had just passed away, the memorial service took place at your home. His body was lying in the guest room. It looked like he was asleep. Only the unnatural pallor was noticeable. Ken had been so young at that time, however, that he could not remember exactly what his father had looked like. 

He knew most of it only from his mother's stories. She had also been the one who had shown him, with tears in his eyes, a picture of him standing in front of his father's body and quietly praying to God. It was all he could do for Omura now. Ken kept his eyes closed and only opened them again when he was sure he had said everything. At that moment it actually helped him to deal better with his grief. Ken smiled narrowly. At least. . . Omura's suffering ended.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

_The ground beneath his feet trembled. Ken felt the slight tremor with every millimeter of his body. He was so hot, at first he thought his veins were boiling with hot blood. Every time he turned his head, tried to look around, flickering black and white dots in front of his eyes. First fused into threads, then into complex, peculiar, flickering shapes. The impulse to tear the sweaty clothes off was strong. He wasn't wearing shoes._

_Heat noticeably formed blisters under his bare soles. It didn't hurt, but the steam and hissing sound, coupled with the smell of burnt flesh, worried him. Whenever Ken's field of vision became clear for a moment before the greyish shapes flared up again, he could see the grandstands. Everywhere sat people, ghoule and monsters, shapeless silhouettes. In the front row he could see his family and Hide. They smiled._

_Ken smiled back and raised his hand to wave to them. It was hard to get a movement out of his body. Difficult and strangely stiff, his body felt. Ken could not see that he was missing two fingers, but he knew it and asked himself involuntarily how it had happened.  
He wasn't in any pain. He was fine. The arena felt familiar. The glances of the audience were no longer strange. In the mutilated hand he held bare metal, it wasn't easy to hold it, but Ken had to, he had to! That's why he worked so hard. It wasn't allowed to fall off. Though no one spoke, Ken heard a quiet whisper. _

_Words that were vaguely and delicately spoken. Which he could barely understand. But it was important. He had the feeling that they were saying something important and it annoyed him that he still couldn't understand them.  
Nervously, Ken nudged his teeth with his tongue while the funny shapes continued to dance in front of his eyes. The impenetrable tangle in his field of vision distracted him, so that he didn't realize until quite late that his teeth were loose. _

_They fall out, he spat some of them out in his empty palm. Ken tasted blood, but that didn't hurt either. Still none of that and he didn't find it strange. Everything was normal. There was no reason to be surprised or even upset. Ken twitched when the whisper suddenly turned into a deafening scream, then subsided, then became very quiet again. Confused, he wanted to look around until he remembered that he could hardly see anything anyway. He felt something that roughly grabbed his shoulders from behind, held him._

_Something cold. Ken had wanted to turn around and see what suddenly held him there, but in one hand he held the sharp metal, in the other his teeth. That's why he couldn't.  
Thereupon he was shaken. At the beginning only slightly, then always stronger. He was pushed forward and torn back again. His teeth jumped off his open palm and clattered on the floor. Ken wanted to turn around, but he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. The flickering in front of his eyes became stronger and stronger. Wild and completely uncontrolled. _

_Then an unexpectedly brutal pain exploded behind his right eye. Suddenly he went blind on this side. Without orientation he pressed the empty palm of his hand on it. Suddenly it stopped hurting again. The audience cheered. They called a name that wasn't his own and yet Ken felt addressed. Knew exactly that he was meant.  
Ken was blinded. The dazzling spotlight illuminated the arena to the smallest angle. When Ken was released, the first moment he thought he fell. But he didn't, he put one foot in front of the other without wanting to. _

_Slowly he lowered his hand, took the blindness on his right eye was so only clearer. A static hissing sounded in his ears as Ken dragged forward. When he suddenly touched something with his toes, he stopped and looked down. A motionless body was in the way. Ken had wanted to ask if the stranger wasn't feeling well, but suddenly he lost his balance, tripped and fell - now really._

_The impact was strangely soft. Like he fell into a sea of cotton wool. Ken blinked. Unclearly looked a person who bent over him.  
"Who are you?" he asked with a heavy tongue.  
"Have you heard?" the figure, however, merely replied amusedly.  
"You've been replaced. "_

When Ken woke from his light sleep, he felt as rested as before.  
There was no memory of the dream.  
At least the silence didn't let him down and greeted him like an old friend.


End file.
